


wasteland, baby!

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Age changes, Eventual Relationships, Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of War, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past War, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Nuclear War, wastelands au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There's no longer countries, nations, towns. In the Wastelands, there's tribes, chiefs, villages. There's mutants and cannibals and freak storms.When someone is taken, a group within one tribe bands together in order to search for them. With only some of them possessing good survival skills, they must learn to survive a long journey.[i take drabble/short fic requests on my tumblr! go send me something: https://another-incorrect-ahquotes.tumblr.com/ thank you!]
Comments: 40
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue

Bamboo cracking against bamboo cuts through the clear, warm night. The source is a few minutes walking distance outside the main circle of the village, but the din can still be heard through open windows.

Heavy breaths accompany shuffling footsteps, cloth brushing against itself.

“Jesus, Ryan!” A voice cries as a man is struck hard in the shoulder.

The sword-length sticks clatter against each other as they hit the earth.

Two men collapse beside their sparring weapons, sweaty and panting and worn from the exercise.

“You’ve gotta get better at blocking, Jack. It was like your shoulder was handing me a damn invitation,” the second man says. The first chuckles at this.

“Bastard,” he mumbles out breathily.

Overhead, the sky is vacant of any storm clouds. The stars are bright. They surround the moon, dancing and twinkling to help keep the night alive. Distant dots of blue and red and green and purple blink serenely.

Jack can point out the Guiding Star of Trebos, the Scavenger’s Constellation, Ethor’s Protection Constellation. He can draw an invisible line perfectly through the Column of Judgement and connect it to Solace’s Ring. He’s learned about how humans used to be able to travel up there. The adventures they had and the things they found and discovered. The things they brought back.

He sits for another minute, thinking about what’s out there. There have been rumours of reports hundreds of years old that detail strange species in the cosmos. Little green men. Humanoids. Mutated creatures of all kinds.

The familiar but gentler thwack of bamboo on his shoulder brings him back.

“Let’s go,” Ryan says softly from outside his sight. Jack mutters an agreement and gets up. They go back into the village’s circle and head to the cookhouse; a familiar routine.

The hall is filled with full bellies, drunken minds, tired eyes. Like every day, the hours have run long and have drained the life from everyone. Small pods of soldiers, fishermen, farmers share their day’s tale, laughing and talking and drinking. Happy while the sky is peaceful. A little less wary—some are convinced it’s because they have been praying to the Beings, giving countless offerings and sitting in the Pedestal for hours when they have the time. They’re dedicated.

Jack floats through the open space and over to the large open window in the wall that connects the kitchen to the dining hall. He catches the attention of Matt, the resident bartender and cook.

“You look lively,” Matt says coolly, flashing a smirk. He wanders from the counter over to the kitchen-side of the window. “Beer?”

Jack shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

A gentle nod. “Okay.”

Jack sits for a while and lets his mind wander. And because of this, it falls back to the one thing that won’t let him live in peace. The clear skies. A stormless land for weeks—the less religious ones have found this behaviour nerve-wracking. They’re expecting a massive hit anytime soon. To them—and Jack—calm skies can only mean that something big is gearing up, and this terrifies him. He’s not ready to face that again. To find corpses of livestock and humans scattered about. To look at miles of destroyed crops and scorched land. To see burned and collapsed buildings.

A hand lands smoothly onto his back.

“Relax,” Ryan’s voice says.

A body thumps down beside him.

Jack turns with an inquisitive look.

“You’re shaking. Just relax.”

Matt hands Ryan a glass of something—something with sugarcane, probably. He’s known for his sweet tooth.

They sit together in silence. Jack is left to his thoughts again, but now he has Ryan’s company to keep him stable.

The cookhouse slowly empties out over the next few hours, spare for the two young men and Matt, who is cleaning up the kitchen now and shutting all the entrances. Ryan’s a little drunk from whatever he had ordered, but he can seemingly still hold his own.

They leave when the moon is right overhead, dimly lighting the village—it’s just enough for them to get home and drag themselves to bed.

As Jack drops his body into his own bed, a distant memory returns.

_ Lightning stabs the ground and leaves growing flames, accompanied by the crack of drums from the dark clouds. Children scream. Livestock are crying out. A cacophony. A house collapses. Wind and rain surround the village. A nightmare. _


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting the scene. A letter arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ: the prologue has been altered a little and updated! please go reread it!

The morning is quiet.

Jack leaves his room and finds Ryan laying on a couch in the common area.

He says, “Good morning,” and receives no answer, which is fine for him.

It’s warm in the house. It feels warm and smells warm. The slow end of the summer season. Sunlight is coming in through the windows and pouring across the dark wooden floor. Those planks are a bit sunbleached from the daily exposure to the bright rays, but it adds to the beauty and personality of the small home. Parts of the floor are scratched from chairs being moved, and those chairs are quite worn, surrounding a round little table with empty plates and cups on it.

In due time, both young men are up and about, cooking bits of food that they have caught or harvested themselves. They’re silent as the morning ambles on. The emptiness in the air, spare for the soft padding of feet on the floor and gentle clattering of dishware, is therapeutic.

They eat breakfast across from each other at the table, and it’s not until they’re finished that they begin to truly interact.

“How’d you sleep?” Jack asks as he stands, taking his used dishware to put with the others. Ryan’s lazy shrug is in the corner of his vision.

“Fine, I guess. You?”

“Not super well, but it’s whatever.”

Ryan cocks a questioning brow, already expecting to receive an answer. He’s only met with a shrug and dismissive wave; “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

He means to argue, but knowing Jack, it will go nowhere. Thus, he’s forced to keep his theories to himself and he goes to get dressed. His footsteps slowly disappear down the hall and a door shuts.

Jack still sits in the kitchen for just a minute longer. The silence is not as peaceful now. Now that he’s all alone. Now it’s just a bit too big for him. Too empty. Slowly, his attention drifts across yesterday’s activities. Farming, sparring. Poor sleep plagued with bad dreams. Millions of worries. Fear of the storm. The storm.

He shudders and shakes his head. There’s too much in the short day that he has to do, he has to learn how to save these anxieties for later. After all, Ryan is always lazily preaching about living in the moment—the man acts like he’ll die in the next ten minutes. He drinks and goes for swims and sleeps in the sun and spars like a warrior. He’d have the world around his finger if he was able.

Jack takes a deep breath and sighes. He’s not ready to die in ten minutes, but Ryan’s mindset isn’t too terrible.

It doesn’t take too long before he’s able to gather himself and get ready for the day. He’s a little calmer now. More prepared. But those anxieties still hang on a coatrack in the back of his mind, waiting to be worn again.

Footsteps in the hall.

“Geoff, a messenger brought a letter for you.”

One of the three chiefs of the tribe looks up sleepily from a book he had been quite absorbed in. A young man—a soldier? he thinks—stands in the doorway to his office.

Geoff pushes up from his desk and ambles over. He murmurs a messy, almost unintelligible “thank you” as he opens the envelope and begins to unfold the paper.

Something brushes over his hand, tickling it, and in response he immediately jumps and jerks his hand about. The letter and envelope fall to the floor.

Upon impact, insects come pouring out of the items. Geoff screeches while he watches hundreds of tiny, thin legs scuttle across his office’s clean floor, so many of them darting for dark, hard-to-reach corners.

The soldier visibly shudders. Still, he seems to be able to gather the courage to slowly come forward and pick up the contaminated letter. He shakes off any insect left on the paper. The falling creatures cause Geoff to make another inhuman noise.

“Geoffrey, Burns, and Gustavo. The Black Crowes are in possession of your v— your… valued hunter… bring an equal trade to retrieve him, or war is… or war is declared…”

The soldier looks up after he finishes. Geoff is staring back at him with a scarred look. Far beyond hurt.

“Gather a meeting. Bring everyone in from all close duties. Local hunters, fishermen. No exceptions. And send Burnie and Gus here.”

The soldier leaves. And then the man is alone in his office.

A crowd is gathered in the center of the village circle. Geoff stands atop a large and solid wooden platform, high enough to see over everyone’s heads and wide enough to comfortably hold at least a dozen people—he hasn’t tried before, but it looks about right. Burnie and Gus stand beside him. His chest aches. _Your valued hunter._

The crowd chatters softly. Scattered voices rattle off possible reasons for the impromptu meeting. Weather?—there’s always the possibility of a storm on the horizon, even if it doesn’t look like it. Food shortage?—the seasons will be changing soon, they probably should start storing away wheat and grain and such, or it’ll be a harsh winter. Some other threat?—who fucking knows, honestly.

Geoff is pulled out of his thoughts when he is gently nudged in the side. Gus is giving him a soft, reassuring look. Kind eyes. It’s a knowing look. Knowing of the weight upon his chest and shoulders.

Geoff steps forward. The crowd falls obediently silent.

“The Tribe of the Black Crowes is known for their aggressive and manipulative behaviour—” Geoff takes a shaky breath. “—Alfredo, one of our best distance-range hunters, was taken by them while on his most recent trip. We don’t know how long they’ve had him for, but ransom is demanded in exchange for his life. We have decided that I will be leading a group of volunteers to take the ransom demanded to the north. A portion of our food and other resources will be traded.”

Parts of the crowd don’t react well. A few people within those parts are so bold as to speak up.

“We can’t give up our resources for one man!” A woman shouts. She is hidden among the taller bodies.

Burnie steps forward immediately, almost shielding Geoff.

“One man is a life, and that life provides for our village. Lives are invaluable. We have been threatened with the declaration of war, and we all know that we will not win. We cannot risk that,” he says in a strong tone. His eyes scan the crowd, and at this, they easily calm down again. They’ve always lived peaceful lives in the village, and they trust their chiefs well. Learning of the threat, it’s harder to argue against the rescue mission.

Burnie gives Geoff a soft look when he’s finished lecturing, inviting him to finish.

“If you would like to contribute in some way, come to the chiefs’ office tonight and see me. It will be greatly appreciated. Thank you.”

Geoff’s head throbs as the crowd eventually disperses. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, leading a rescue mission. Leading multiple lives into treacherous territory. Leading them into the path of possible certain death. He will be responsible for any and all deaths.

Geoff spends the rest of the day sleeping in his office; Gus is there to keep watch until night. Another body sits in a chair beside the couch, silent. Worried and almost unable to keep those feelings bottled up.

Geoff has unpleasant dreams that make him toss on his small couch. He’s silent. They quickly become blurry fragments of scattered, anxiety-ridden memory. Nothing more than fuzzy visions lost in his jumbled and tired mind.

He is jolted awake at sunset by a knock on his office door. He’s disoriented for only a moment before he’s able to grasp reality firmly enough. He sees Gus walking to the door—and he catches sight of the thin, lanky body slumped over in the chair, peacefully asleep. The door opens. There’s the shuffling of footsteps. Quieter voices that Geoff can’t quite understand. (Is Geoff old enough to start losing his hearing? He’s not physically old, but his mind feels so much further along.)

He faintly hears Gus ask the hallway to wait momentarily and then the door closes. He sits up and rubs at his eyes.

“They’re here about volunteering.”

“Let them in.”

The door is opened again.

Five people come into the small room. One of them is the soldier who brought the letter. Revisiting that recent memory makes Geoff’s head and heart hurt.

A sigh.

“You all want to go?” He asks fairly flatly, partially due to the fact that he is still struggling to fully wake up. Somehow, it manages to surprise him when the young men all confirm his assumption.

With this, he stands.

“Then this should be it. Tomorrow morning, we’ll meet here and load two carts: one full of food and one full of other resources. The trip there and back with minimal issues will take six weeks. Are you all completely sure you want to come with?” (Everyone nods without hesitation.)

Then Geoff goes through the small group in order to document who will be out of service for that time.

Trevor is the soldier. He’s from the fourth unit. He’s tall and thin but surprisingly well built. He’s better with weapons than his own strength—but his dark features somehow make him look stronger. Alfredo is his best friend.

Jack is a farmer. He maintains not only the community farms, but also a sizeable one for himself and his housemate. He has a big heart. Geoff knows him fairly well.

Ryan is a local hunter. He never travels within a day’s distance from the village. He has a good eye. He’s very good with a bow. Very independent. He says that he’s going with to keep Jack safe; his best friend of fifteen years.

Jeremy is another soldier. He’s from the second unit. Short and buff. He’s fiery, vocal. Very, very physical—boxing, running, swimming, climbing.

Michael is the last soldier. He claims to be from the fifth unit, but there’s no record of him. Perhaps a mixup, so he’s allowed to come anyways. A bit brash, but he has a good sense of direction and good instincts.

Geoff sends them on their way when they’re all done.

When his office is empty, he turns his attention to the body in the chair.

The boy is skinny, gangly, bony. He’s _long_. Cuts and bruises litter his skin. He’s got big hands and feet, it’s almost comical. His nose is the same. He’s got a full head of hair, maybe even too much.

Geoff walks over and gently touches a hand to the top of the boy’s head. He stirs and inaudibly mumbles something.

“Gavin,” Geoff calls, at which he hums faintly back. “It’s better to sleep in your bed, not in a chair. That’s so uncomfortable.”

Gavin’s eyes sleepily flick open. He blinks and tries to pick his heavy head up. His neck aches. Geoff gives him a gentle, warning look when he groans.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s go home.”

Gavin gradually manages to pick himself up. He sways momentarily before he regains his sense of balance. Tired legs from a long day, aching body from all he’s done. His muscles tighten as he stretches, hoping to sort these issues out. Aside from feeling the smallest bit lightheaded, the action energizes him ever so slightly, and he’s a little more awake.

On the way home, Geoff asks, “How long were you in my office for?”

“I dunno. You were asleep.”

“You… you know you can’t go with on this trip, Gavin.”

Gavin makes some sort of strangled noise.

“Don’t argue with me, Gavin. It’s too dangerous, I don’t want you coming along. You can stay with Gus and Burnie.”

Gavin huffs beside him.

“I can handle myself. You know that,” he says.

“Gavin. You can’t go with. If you get hurt, that’s on me.”

“No, it’s on me because I’m going.”

Geoff stops and turns to Gavin. He takes him firmly by the thin shoulders.

“You are my responsibility. If you get hurt on this trip, it is on me,” he says sternly. Sharp eyes, cold expression. Fear.

Gavin’s brows furrow together, caught somewhere between angry and upset and childishly hurt.

“Dad, I can handle myself. I’m going.”

Geoff stays quiet. His hands drop from his shoulders, and he slowly turns forward again and starts walking. He can feel Gavin watching his back, and then he hears his footsteps slowly follow behind once more.

Geoff doesn’t fall asleep easily late that night. Worries of danger haunt him; disease, cannibals, storms. The Black Crowes. He dreads the morning, wishing he could force it away. Wishing he could stop time and just sit and wait. Wait to get older and wiser and stronger. To know what the hell he’s supposed to do.

As he unwillingly drifts off, Trevor’s voice enters his mind.

_“I hope we can save him, Geoff. He’s my best friend… he’s all I really have.”_


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group begins their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: mentions of blood and skinning an animal for food

Jeremy is the last to meet the volunteers in the center of the village. He’s done going about his normal routine—a run at dawn, a short swim just as the sun is fully over the horizon, breakfast in the cookhouse when the farmers first begin to feed their livestock—and now he’s itching to go.

The carts are already loaded—oxen are at the ready to pull the weight. Jeremy can see wood, wheat, wool, cloth, stone. Resources. There’s a basket of apples at the top. A basket of carrots and potatoes and greens. Cheese, dried beans, dried corn kernels. Boxes—meat stored in baths of ice. Bundles of hay, wool, piles of brick and stone. Buckets of sand. Neat bunches of wood and sticks and logs. Coal and simple metals from the mines.

“Good morning,” Geoff turns and greets when Jeremy approaches him.

“Good morning. Sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I didn’t know how early we’d be meeting,” Jeremy says back, eyes tracing the two full wagons.

“It’s alright, no worries. Jack, Ryan, and I managed to load them up pretty quickly.”

Jeremy nods at this, and he sees the other two men talking a few yards away. He recognizes them well enough to recall who is who.

Ryan is a hunter, very tall and well built. He’s got a dark, dry attitude. Strong. He can carry a whole elk for miles back to the village. He deserves to be a soldier, so it perplexes Jeremy that he’s only a hunter. He looks far beyond his age—he’s only in his early twenties. Lighter hair and thick brows that assert his dominance for him. He looks patient, yet somehow intolerant of bullshit. Hard, observant eyes. A man made of perfect steel.

Jack is a bit fuller of a man, which fits his trademark soft heart and attitude. He’s a farmer. He loves animals and is very good at what he does. He has a jovial, happy laugh and bright eyes. Very friendly and selfless.

There’s two— three other men. Matt is over with Trevor. He wasn’t there last night.

Matt is a fairly good friend of his. He and Jeremy grew up as mutual friends, and they became closer recently. Matt’s goofy and always makes light of situations. He’s sarcastic and level headed. He can seem dumb at first, but he’s smart when you catch him in a more serious mindset.

Trevor is a gangly man. He’s from the fourth unit, posted south near the lake. The other soldiers have mentioned his name before. He seems smart.

Michael is completely new. He says he’s from the fifth unit. He’s fairly built, but he’s got a young face. He looks chaotic, devious. A scheming smile.

Easily, Jeremy gravitates towards Matt and, by extension, Trevor.

Trevor looks a little worn. His eyes and nose are just barely too red to be natural. His eyes are almost not noticeably watery. Still, he’s holding well and seems ready to go.

“Hey, J,” Matt greets with a smile, his yearn for more sleep apparent in his warm, tired brown eyes.

Jeremy replies with a smile and nod.

The three fall into easy conversation. How’s your morning thus far? How have you been? Do you have any free time? How is your job? What’s new? What’s old?

Turns out Matt missed the meeting. He wanted to get away from the village, and because he was friends with Trevor, he wanted to help retrieve Alfredo as well. So he asked this morning, and now he’s here.

Jeremy meets Michael for the first time as they’re slowly starting to leave the village. Ryan and Jack are off together, talking about something to each other. (Jeremy speculates that they’re gay, but he’s not going to ask.) Geoff is out of sight. Matt is telling Trevor some pretty terrible jokes, but he’s smiling, so it seems to be working.

Face to face, Michael just seems like a bit of a devious kid. Only he’s a soldier.

Jeremy catches the guy giving him a once-over. He looks away immediately when sees he’s been spotted.

Jeremy decides to speak first, trying to be friendly.

“Hey, I’m Jeremy. I don’t think we’ve met.”

Michael gives a short nod; “Michael.”

“You’re in the fifth unit?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool. How is it out there?”

“Good.”

Then they don’t speak anymore.

Jeremy slowly floats back over to Trevor and Matt, and it stays like that for a while.

_ “You can’t go, Gavin.” _

_“I’m old enough to make my own decisions!”_ _  
__“You are my responsibility, and I don’t want you getting hurt. As both the chief of this tribe and your father, I have decided that you are not going.”_

_ “And what if you get hurt?! Yeah?” _

_ “Dammit, Gavin, that’s for me to worry about!” _

_ Gavin says nothing back. Goes silent and angrily still. _

_ Geoff can see the fear in his eyes. He stops and sighs. Force won’t help. _

_ “Gavin… everything is going to be okay. I’ll be okay. I’ll come home. You’ve gotta help Burnie and Gus hold down the fort here, alright?” He says softly, putting a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. _

_ Gavin looks away. _

_ “Fine.” _

Geoff walks alongside the carts as the village is just beginning to disappear in the distance. Anxiety’s voice nags him in the back of his mind. Quiet and ever-present. Just enough to keep him from relaxing.

He watches the others to keep himself distracted.  _ Keep an eye on them, don’t let them get hurt. Don’t let anyone from outside get too close. You don’t know who is who. _

The group is quiet for the first few hours. The soldiers keep their weapons close and walk evenly, eyes darting at any distant sound. The farmer watches the nature surrounding him; tall trees, thick and wild grass, little splashes of colour sourced from flowers and berries. The hunter is completely silent, moving with surprising grace for his size. The cook is humming faintly to himself, walking between the two large oxen.

The Outlands are beautiful in some parts. There’s the occasional rabbit or deer that darts from bush to bush. The world is somehow still full of colour despite hundreds of years of ruin. A few leaves are already beginning to change to keep with the turn of the season. Red, orange, yellow, brown. It’s sparse but beautiful. The grass is still a lush green and there are still flowers that bloom. Despite all stories of the Fall, it seems that the Earth’s heart still beats.

“Why are you taking so many volunteers?” Matt asks Geoff when they stop to make camp near sundown. Ryan is building a fire and mumbling something to Jack, and the soldiers are in a little pod, talking.

“The Black Crowes are incredibly dangerous and unpredictable. And I suck at saying no.” Geoff laughs, and Matt joins him for a moment. It’s light and joking, pulling up a barrier between the light and the dark.

“You’ve got a farmer and a cook. Pretty vicious.”

Geoff hums and lets himself chuckle one more time; “And a hunter and four soldiers.”

Matt’s expression shifts slightly, and he cocks a brow.

“Four?” He repeats. Trevor, Michael, and Jeremy.

“I was one before I was appointed chief,” Geoff says with a fond and reminiscent smile. He was head of his unit—until he was needed more at home. Then he slowly wasn’t a soldier anymore, and then he was a chief.

A shuffle. Ryan is on his feet suddenly, grabbing everyone’s attention. He’s watching the dark intently, though the fire light is still too dim for anyone to see more than a few yards into the thicket. No one speaks. He takes a few steps away from the light, grabs his bow, and nocks an arrow. There’s a soft rustling in the direction the arrow is pointing. Faint, gentle footsteps in the dark beyond the trees.

Ryan shoots. An odd voice cries out; a body thuds.

Spare for Jack, everyone dons slightly disturbed, questioning looks.

It’s a moment before Ryan catches sight of their reactions, and then he shrugs and all he says is, “Deer.”

Turns out the deer is real. And it’s large. And it’s dinner now.

Ryan abandons his original task and takes to preparing this new food. He appoints Jack to the position of fire-tender and tells Matt and Geoff to find fresh water and bring buckets of it back. Trevor and Michael are told to grab sticks; the longest sticks, which are to be sharpened, to skewer the meat and the smaller, preferably thicker, ones to feed the fire.

Jeremy, with nothing to do, sits and simply watches. His eyes follow Ryan’s calloused hands as they effortlessly slide a sharp knife down the chest cavity. Blood leaks out and trickles down over the deer’s pelt, dark and thick. When it’s done, he works quickly to strip the animal of its skin and fur, exposing the flesh, muscles, and bones underneath.

Jeremy had desperately wanted to become a hunter when he was little. Handle a bow, nock and shoot arrows perfectly, provide for his family and the tribe. Become a master of precision. It all seemed so damn cool, so important and empowering. But he couldn’t get over one thing. The killing. The watching and listening to the life drain from an animal. He backed down on his first hunt with his uncle, and then he didn’t touch a bow for months. He became a soldier instead. It worked out fairly well, because humans are smart and have motives and some of them just might deserve to die sometimes. Jeremy can handle killing that. And, he hasn’t had to kill anyone yet in the eight months he’s already served, so that’s a plus.

Matt and Geoff return not long after with buckets of fresh water and Ryan gets to cleaning the meat and newly-separated pelt.

“Where’s the source?” He asks Matt as he starts to divide the meat and remove what’s inedible or undesired.

“It’s about a mile east. It’s a big river.”

Sticks are brought back soon after and added to the fire. The sharpest ones are used to pierce the meat and hold the pieces over the bright, warm flame.

The men gradually settle after they’ve all eaten. The soldiers, again, gather together to chat, though Matt joins them this time. Jack and Ryan leave to take a walk—Ryan insists he needs to stretch his legs and Jack offers to accompany him so that he won’t be alone. Geoff sits near the oxen and the carts and watches the night sky.

The sky is clear, simply a window into the world far above them. The moon is large and still, overlooking the world and casting soft light. He’s heard stories of a man in the moon, a tale thousands of years old that tells of a man banished from the earth because of a crime he committed. Geoff can’t quite remember what that crime is, or if it’s ever even said, and he knows that it’s not true. Still, some old stories are so interesting. So different than what is thought now. They’re funny. Primitive.

Geoff can only point out one constellation in the vast night sky: the Strength of Den. A collection of stars shape an arrow that points East, where they say all warriors are buried. According to the more faithful folks, Den was a man who led the first Reborns and taught them how to survive after the Fall. He was a hero. He died in the East, past the Long Sea, and was buried there. They say that because of his selflessness and heroism, his spirit was immortalized and he was made a Being. He was embedded in the stars and given a home in a constellation.

Geoff doesn’t really believe in this stuff, and others like him struggle to prove that he was real, but he somehow will still occasionally find himself asking Den for strength. Strength to help Gavin. Strength to help the tribe. Strength to face the Black Crowes. Strength to be what he needs to be. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, a “better safe than sorry” mindset.

When everyone is back at the makeshift campsite, it is decided upon that a few of them will take watch during the night in shifts. Best not to let anyone get too close or let anything else happen.

When Jeremy offers to take the first half of the night, too wound to sleep, no one disagrees. Most of everyone is asleep within half an hour of the decision, actually. Only Ryan is still up—he has managed to easily climb a tree and is now perched on a low branch, back against the thick trunk. The branch is sturdy enough to hold his weight, and it’s high enough that he can’t be seen at first glance. He’s silent.

Nothing really happens, and it’s quiet for a while. Slowly, that quiet becomes unbearable. Painful, poking Jeremy in the brain. He almost forgets that Ryan is there until he looks up. Oh, yeah.

“So… how’d you know it was a deer?”

Silence. Then, “Saw it.”

“How’d you see it? It was too dark to see anything.”

“I could see it,” Ryan just reassures in an easy, humming tone.

Jeremy thinks for a moment. The claim is familiar.

“Are you a Vision?”

“Yeah.”

There are some people that come from lines of extraordinary humans, leading back to some of the most unique Reborns. The Visions have incredible sight, seeing clearly for a few thousand feet—the best can see from over a mile away. The Auditors can hear a mouse running underground with clear precision—they can tell a deer’s steps from an elk’s. The Aromatics can track prey for miles by scent—everything has a distinct smell.

Jeremy looks up at Ryan from his place below. The man is sitting perfectly still, staring into the dark. Seeing something he can’t. He wonders what it’s like to have that kind of power, to see perfectly—and in the black of night, no less.

He can’t think of anything to say back, so he just sits and tries to keep watch. The night is still and calm, nothing more forceful than a gentle breeze. The carts remain untouched. One ox is stonely asleep. The other is huffing softly and nipping at grass blades around its hooves.

After a while: “Why are you still up? I’m on watch, you can get some sleep.”

“I don’t get much sleep. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure? I—”

“It’s okay, Jeremy.”

“Okay. Is… is it alright that I’m talking to you?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t bother me.”

“Cool.”

Ironically, Jeremy doesn’t talk again for a while. Fatigue gradually begins to pull at him as the silence reigns, tugging at his eyes and mind. His thoughts fade and blur in and out of focus, just barely out of reach and unable to be fully reformed. Naturally, he stands and tries to rub at his face to fight back. He paces slowly and lifts his head up with force. It works for a bit. But then Jeremy’s body starts to feel too heavy. His eyes keep closing; he blinks slower and he’s slowly slouching and his arms are no longer tense.

“Jeremy.”

“Yeah?”

“Go to sleep.”

A pause.

“I’m not tired.”

“Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

“I— no, Ryan, it-it’s fine. Seriously, man.”

“Jeremy. I hope you know that I could knock you out.”

“Yes, Galla—”

Ryan cackles into his hand. The formality must be funny to him, a lonely, independent hunter. Jeremy’s so used to using honorifics, calling his unit’s head and upperclassmen “Galla” and following orders.

“Relax, Jeremy. Get some sleep.”

Jeremy tries to look up, but he can no longer see Ryan clearly in the tree now; he’s only a messy shadow. All he can grasp is that there’s a smiling tone in his words.

“Alright…”

Jeremy sits back down on the ground and sits himself up against Ryan’s tree. His arms drop into his lap. His head falls against the thick trunk. He slouches comfortably. Relief and calmness wash over him as he relaxes.

“Thanks, man. I owe you one,” he mumbles, letting his heavy eyelids drop.

“Yeah. Get some sleep.”

And Jeremy does. He’s out in under a minute, not used to such long days, even as a soldier. Just before he loses consciousness, though, he manages to still wonder about Ryan—what’s his story?

_ I don’t get much sleep. … I hope you know that I could knock you out. _


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone joins their party. They come across something unwanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: descriptions of dead bodies and cannibalism

Six days into the trek, the group starts to fall into a vague routine. Jack wakes up first, makes some sort of breakfast out of something, gets the others up. They eat and mumble to each other as they slowly gather themselves. They walk for the day. If they find a river, stream, lake, they’ll wash themselves and relax for a bit. Take a moment off. When nightfall hits, they stop. A fire is built, Ryan hunts and cooks, and then they eat and talk until they sleep.

Ryan’s been taking at least one of the night shifts every night. (Jack worries about him, but he shouldn’t worry, this is normal Ryan. Normal Ryan never gets much sleep and he functions just fine.) The past two nights, he’s caught sight of something in the distance. He attributes this to his recent,  _ more _ increasingly-poor sleep pattern, and he takes to looking for closer, more immediate dangers. However, he’s still a little more vigilant when he thinks he spots a shadow far off.

He spends a couple of Jeremy’s shifts keeping him company. He’s a little like Jack, lighthearted and friendly. The similarity comforts him.

_ Jeremy and Ryan sit opposite each other, a small fire between them, fairly engrossed in talking. _

_ “So why aren’t you a soldier? If we weren’t as safe as we are, you’d be one of our best,” Jeremy wonders to him as they share some more cooked meat. _

_ Ryan provides a gentle shrug; “Not really my thing.” _

_ “Mmh. Fair.” _

_ “Why are you?” _

_ “Wanted to provide for and serve my family and the tribe. Family’s kinda gone now, though. My brother’s out east, sister travelled south. My parents died a couple years ago in one of the storms.” _

_ Ryan is witness to a faint, wistful smile that graces the teen’s face shortly. For a fraction of a second, he sees a vague reflection of himself. He recognizes it, but he can’t quite name it. Fatigue or something. Then it’s gone. _

_ Jeremy shifts and sits up a little straighter. A pop resounds from his back. He clears his throat. _

_ “Sorry, kinda made that a little depressing. I’m doing better now,” he says with an awkward chuckle. _

_ Ryan shakes his head. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize.” _

_ They’re quiet for a few moments. Jeremy finishes his meat and sighs and closes his eyes. _

_ “Why’d you come with?” Ryan’s voice feels a little too loud in the quiet. _

_ Jeremy looks at him, something sparkling in his eye. _

_ “It’s my job to protect the tribe,” he replies. He gives a genuine smile, one that sparks a bit of happiness within Ryan’s own heart.  _ Odd.

_ “Now, what about you, Ry? You’re doing a hell of a lot for someone who doesn’t think a soldier is his “thing.” What’s your secret?” _

_ The trees move slowly. The leaves rustle in the breeze. Time moves on, if slowly at points. _

_ “Promise you won’t laugh?” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “Life’s too short to sit down.” _

On the morning of the seventh day after not sleeping all night, Ryan gets fed up after seeing the shadow too many times now and takes off while Jack is busy waking everyone up.

He doesn’t get very far before—

A scream.

“Geoff!” Ryan calls out.

The group, naturally, comes running to investigate this new situation. See what their hunter has found.

When they reach the man, who’s less than fifty yards to the west of their site, he is holding a panicked and flailing Gavin by the shirt collar.

“Found your kid.”

Ryan looks visibly worn in the morning light. There are circles beneath his eyes and he is blinking slower than he should and he seems just a little too miserable. Jack can see the small plea for mercy in his gaze, and he knows that it’s time to intervene.

Geoff steps forward.

“Gavin…”

The teen looks alarmed and skittish. Tears are just beginning to pool in his eyes and he keeps sniffling and he can’t look at Geoff for more than a second before forcing his gaze elsewhere. His head is tilted down, but his face isn’t hidden well. He’s still uselessly struggling in Ryan’s grip—but he looks like he doesn’t want to escape anymore.

“Let go, Ryan. All of you, go back,” Geoff says firmly.

They comply. Ryan’s grip loosens on Gavin’s shirt—Gavin has stopped squirming so violently now—and he walks towards the rest of the group as they start to head back.

Geoff can see Gavin clearly now that he’s still. His face is twisted. His brows are tied together tightly like whenever he’s frustrated, and his nose is scrunched like whenever he’s about to cry. He looks angry and beaten. Tears are right about to spill down his pink cheeks, and he seems to know because he won’t blink.

“Come here, Gavin.” Geoff takes a step forward and opens his arms.

And this is the tipping point. Gavin stumbles into the embrace and starts sobbing. He’s sixteen now, but he still feels like such a child at times. So young that Geoff feels as though he has to protect him from the village’s horses again like when he was four. The steeds were loud and could be unpredictable, he had warned, holding Gavin’s tiny hand in his. It was when a horse got too close and whinnied right over Gavin’s head that the poor boy got spooked and cried. Geoff couldn’t help but laugh, but he picked Gavin up and held him until the tears slowed. He didn’t like horses for a while after that. It was so simple then.

Geoff gently rubs Gavin’s back, shushing him. He’s trembling violently and clinging tightly to Geoff and hiccuping and it’s  _ so damn heartbreaking to hear _ . Geoff’s chest hurts. Heart twinges.

Long minutes of slowing breaths before Geoff tries to speak.

“Gavin… why did you come…?” He asks faintly, his chin rested on his son’s head.

Sniffling.

“I…” He hiccups and his breath starts to quicken again. Dammit.

The soothing routine repeats for a few more minutes until Gavin is quiet again. This time, steadier breaths.

“You travelled for a week behind us, didn’t you…?”

Gavin nods slowly.

“Are you going to go home if I ask you?”

Nod. Hiccup.

“Don’t lie to me, Gavin. I know you…”

Hesitation, then a whimper. Gavin shakes his head.

Geoff sighs.

“You’re stubborn, kiddo… it’s a good trait to have, but you have to be careful…”

Silence.

“...I’m sorry, Dad…”

“I know. Just relax.”

Gavin is allowed to join the trip—with a set of rules to follow. He can’t go alone anywhere. He is to run if there is ever a moment of danger. No arguing, talking back, yelling. Stay within the campsite limits at night. Always ask, never assume. Always say please and thank you. Blah blah blah.

Gavin hates rules. He loves his father, but he hates rules. Always looking out for something. Remembering things. Especially things he  _ wants _ to do. Like he loves his space. Not being able to be alone ever? That’s going to kill him. Run from danger? He’s not too sure he hates this, but the thought that anything could happen to Dad rips him up inside, so he decides that he doesn’t like that one either.

The aching feeling being caught carries throughout the morning and afternoon. He hates that he cried. Cried in front of people. Cried in front of Dad.

Now they’re all walking. Gavin’s right at Dad’s side, watching their surroundings. He’s never gone this far from the village before. They live in a flat area with some trees, though not enough to be considered “a lot.” Here, they’re going by hundreds of trees. They’re all tall and mostly green. There’s no crops anywhere, no bands of livestock, no stables for horses. No homes.

Gavin knows a few of the men on the mission. Jack’s the farmer who has the free-roaming dogs and hundreds of healthy crops. Ryan’s the one who’s always bringing in the heaviest game and usually is a little drunk at the cookhouse. Matt is one of the cooks at said cookhouse—he’s awkward and weird, but it’s endearing. Jeremy’s the soldier who’s usually joking around instead of actually patrolling—it’s unclear whether he’s been reprimanded yet or not.

Trevor is another soldier, he’s been told. He’s posted further out, which is probably why Gavin doesn’t really ever see him.

Michael is new to him too. He looks cutthroat. It’s hard to believe that he’s a soldier, he looks like he should be Gavin’s age. Just another punk kid. He doesn’t talk at all. He just walks and stares around. He hasn’t even looked at Gavin yet.

Naturally, Gavin stays away from him.

A couple hours in, Jeremy slowly floats over.

“Hey. You’re Geoff’s kid, right? Gavin?” He says, raising a curious brow.

After taking a second to adjust to the new interaction, Gavin nods; “Yep.”

“I’m Jeremy. I’ve seen you a couple times before while on patrol.”

Jeremy is shorter than him—though, it’s not like Gavin is very tall himself—and he’s got muscles the size of his own head.

Gavin nods to him again.

“I’d introduce myself, but it seems everyone already knows who I am,” he mumbles, chuckling to himself.

Jeremy shrugs. “You’re the chief’s kid. You, uh… you looked kinda bugged out, so I…”

_ Came over to make friends, I guess? _

“It’s alright, no worries.”

And Gavin slowly warms up. They each share a bit of themselves. They exchange little chuckles. Jeremy recounts a couple of funny soldier stories. Gavin exposes Dad through a couple of embarrassing accounts. It’s nice.

Dad stops the group when the trees start to thin out.

“We’re getting into more dangerous territory at this point. I need you guys to stay vigilant and communicate if you see anything, hear anything, smell anything—all of that shit,” he announces. It feels weird for Gavin to be addressed by Dad in a group. He’s always been at his side rather than before him. He’s not sure he likes how it feels.

The guys around him mumble affirmations.

They’re all much quieter from then on. Even the forest around them shuts up. They’re walking on soft dirt now, which absorbs the sounds of their steps. The breeze isn’t strong enough to rustle leaves. The area might as well be dead.

Gavin’s heart is beating a little too hard as he walks. He’s got his fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of his knife and is ready to pull it on anyone he needs to.

As they go, the forest dies. It starts with little bits of grass yellowing and shrivelling up. Bushes slowly turn up bare. Then trees are dead and rotting—many have fallen. A stench permeates through the open air. It isn’t long before Gavin resorts to pinching his nose shut so he won’t gag and taking deep breaths and holding them for as long as he can.

“Matt,” Ryan looks over his shoulder at the back half of the group, “stay back with the kid. Give us a minute.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Matt replies. His demeanor shifts somehow.

“Just give us a second.”

Ryan knows the smell cutting through the air. It’s rancid and makes his entire being spin and churn. Disgusting.

Too soon, they come across the first.

A decomposing human corpse. Patches of flesh are gone, and what is left is severely discoloured and rotting. The left side of the ribcage has collapsed—the bones are cracked and split. There’s no eyes in the sockets, no tongue in the gaping mouth. The hair is long and ragged. The right foot and left pinky finger are missing—both appear to have been ripped off.

Someone retches behind him.

“Jack, go back,” he says, knowing too well who it is. Footsteps recede.

Once the man is in the distance behind them, the smaller group of five continues on. As they traverse further, bodies appear more frequently in worse states. A few decapitated heads with parts of the brain missing, the eyes and tongue are gone again. If the skull is largely exposed, it’s scratched and damaged to hell. Something’s cut into the bone. Dried blood rests in the fissures.

Ryan watches in masked horror. The others are stern and silent—he can’t quite tell if they’re feeling the same.

“There’s a band somewhere near here,” Geoff says after minutes of silence. “Be on guard. They take anyone they can.”

Ryan pulls out his bow and loosely nocks an arrow, ready to draw back and fire at a moment’s notice.

When they reach the gaping mouth of a cave, there’s only three of them left. Trevor retreated when they began to pass mass piles of rotten flesh and chewed bone. Jeremy bailed when the stench grew too overpowering.

There’s a breathing body in the cave, curled up on its side. The eyes are wide and bloodshot. In any space that  _ should _ be white, it’s a disgusting yellow-orange, somehow still managing to stand out against the patchy, diseased skin. The hair is long and dark and scraggly. It’s overgrown and falls into tangled piles on the jagged stone floor. The blood-stained mouth is deformed—missing teeth, black tongue, horrid breath. It’s curved in a wicked smile. It’s a person. A human. A  _ Salamander _ , they call them.

“Where’s your band?” Geoff asks. His voice just barely echoes in the spacious cave, and his hand is on his own knife, which is unsheathed and pointing towards the twitching body. He’s shaking just slightly.

The Salamander mumbles incoherently, none of it salvageable. Its wild eyes dart around unendingly, glancing from Ryan’s worn shoes to Michael’s sword, the wall, the bright outside. No set target to latch on to.

“He’s already gone,” Michael says after a minute. He’s giving no expression, looking throughout the whole cave, and Ryan only then notices what is inside it.

Piles of bones are scattered about. Many of them are chewed, broken, splintering. Damaged in some way. Thousands of them. There are small mounds of rotten meat. Flesh. It gives a putrid, haunting odor. Blood paints the ground darkly—fresh deep red over dried brown.

Geoff and Michael have begun quietly arguing between each other about how to deal with the Salamander.

Salamanders aren’t usually this gone. They’re quite insane to begin with, but they’re at least consciously nuts when they’re healthy. They make sense and can tell, to a degree, what is going on, who is who, etc. They’re smart enough to trap some people, which gets them by and helps them to keep “thriving,” but that’s the extent of it. They lose all sense of thought and intelligence when they get their hands on diseased people. Their mental state shits itself, their body malfunctions, and they slowly suffer and die.

Something clangs against the stone floor. When Ryan looks, the Salamander’s head is slowly rolling. Blood is thickly pouring from the cleanly cut neck, adding to the warm-toned mural under it.

Geoff coughs, and he turns away. Michael is resheathing his bloody blade. He’s unfazed.

“Let’s go,” the eldest mutters lowly.

Ryan is hyper attentive for the remainder of the day, even well after they regroup and continue on. His eyes and ears stay fixated on the world, which effectively drowns out the others. There’s a band of Salamanders somewhere nearby, and he’s not about to let them take a bite of him. (Literally.)

While they’re eating fresh rabbit meat that night, Ryan and Jack bicker in hushed voices. Jeremy can’t hear them at first, so he doesn’t pay much attention. They get louder as tension seems to rise, and he continues to try not to listen, already feeling the guilt that is to come, but some words still slip through.

“You need to sleep.”

“No, I ... keep watch.”

“You can wait a couple ...”

“I have the best damn sight in this group, I ...”

“Quit acting big. Don’t ... through ... shit.”

Sigh.

“You know I won’t get much sleep anyways.”

“But at least you’ll be trying…”

And then Jeremy has to stand up and walk away from the ring of people around the campfire so he can’t listen anymore. He needs to get some fresh air anyways.

Geoff asks him where he’s going, completely ignoring Jack and Ryan. Jeremy says that he’s just leaving for a short walk. Geoff warns him not to go far, and Jeremy reassures him he won’t and then he leaves.

Selfishly, part of Jeremy wants Ryan to stay up. He has so many questions that he’s still trying to gather the courage to ask. But that doesn’t mean that he can ask them right now. And Ryan seems to sleep once every blue moon. Keeping him up wouldn’t be in his best interest.

Jeremy doesn’t go any further than a couple miles from their campsite. The night keeps him close now that they’re far from home. Darkness doesn’t let him wander far, and it doesn’t let him go unarmed either.

Through the high ceiling of leaves, Jeremy can catch glimpses of dancing shimmers of light. Distant blips of bright colour that blink calmly in the dark. Something could live up there, and he would never know. Perhaps something  _ does _ . From what he’s gathered, Jack certainly seems to think so. But Jack has also voiced his fascination at the fact that habitable planets in the universe are rare, and they’re taking up some of that. The idea had perplexed him too much at first so he tuned the rest of it out, but now that he’s alone and has a clearer mind, it creeps back in.

He’s had this thought before. What if the storms happen in order to keep other things out? Something gets too close to them and the skies somehow know and they keep them out with nasty storms? That could be why there are such long calm periods at times, like now. Maybe nothing’s trying to get in, so they’re safe.

Something touches his arm. There’s a pinch. His arm begins to burn.

Jeremy’s legs carry him back towards the campsite while his head swims, heart throbbing panickedly in his ears.

He remembers hearing his voice cry out a word or two, but not feeling it. The loud drumming in his ears weakens and fades as he slips into a void.

_ Mantem. _


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group aids the suffering. It doesn't look good.

They find Jeremy almost half a mile from their campsite. His body is sprawled out, completely limp. He’s face down in the dirt. When they turn him over, sweat is pouring over his dirty face.

They haul him back to camp—Ryan is the only one doing the heavy lifting, carrying Jeremy as carefully as he can—so they can get a better look at him. They find a bloody rash on his right bicep while he’s laid near the fire. After they clean his face, they discover that he’s many shades paler than he was before he left almost an hour ago. The muscles in his arm tense at random and his veins pop.

Geoff rattles off orders; he makes Michael and Matt take Gavin further away and keep him distracted. He tells Michael something before they leave, but Ryan can’t hear what’s whispered. (An Auditor would be useful right now.)

Jack and Ryan are given stern instructions to tend to Jeremy’s wound as best they can. They clean his arm with fresh water and apply some basic medicine with the best resources they could gather in such short time. Olli root to help strengthen the body, mender leaves to protect the wound, diad petals to try and purify the blood. They grind together the mixture, apply it, and then they wrap the area with clean cloth and tighten it enough that it can’t slip and nothing can get under it.

“It’s a mantemback bite,” Jack tells Geoff quietly when the soldier is taken care of. “There’s little chance he’ll make it.”

The rest of the night is hazy. Someone is always appointed to keep watch, but no one gets much sleep. Anxiety sits like a phantom among them, keeping them from closing their eyes. Nightmares plague those who are unlucky enough to doze off.

Ryan sits among the other zombies. He stares at Jeremy’s body, some large part of him carrying more guilt than he may have ever felt before. He’s kept in this unfocused trance unendingly; tormented by his own thoughts and feelings and hopes and worries. He had expected a death on the trek, but not this early. Not from a mantemback bite. Certainly not Jeremy.

Jeremy twitches and trembles and sweats all throughout the night. Sometimes he coughs, often followed by a small trickle of blood from his lips. He emits a whine if something touches his right arm. For a few minutes at a time for hours, his breathing shortens and becomes shallow before eventually evening out again. His hands clench sometimes, grabbing chunks of grass or dirt. Matt and Trevor are close by, tired but forcefully alert. They turn him over when he’s on his arm, they sit him up slowly when his breathing falters.

“Ryan… you need to sleep,” Jack says as soft, warm hues begin to bleed into the early morning sky. Jeremy has been infected for ten hours.

Ryan stares sleepily at the body. His brain’s gone numb.

“He’s gonna die, Jack,” he replies in a low, gruff tone.

“I know, Ry… but once he’s gone, we’re gonna have to keep moving. You’re going to need your strength for that.” The frown is so damn _loud_ in his gentle voice.

He doesn’t reply, and eventually, Jack’s body goes away somewhere else. But the thoughts stay behind.

_He’s like you._

Michael’s seen a few mantemback victims before. They deteriorate over two to four days and then die when their body gives out. They experience hellish dreams, a blazing fever, hindered breathing. They cough up blood. Muscle spams. Weakness. Nobody knows for sure, but some think that the victim’s blood is poisoned and the toxins flood the body after the bite.

Michael has been assigned to watch over Gavin, the chief’s son. He looks like he hasn’t grown into his body—he’s thin and long and his hands and feet and head are huge. He’s hairy like some sort of beast. Quite frankly, he looks like some sort of weird mutant.

Gavin is jumpy and loud. He makes awkward squawks when he gets spooked. If something even brushes ever so slightly against him when he isn’t expecting it, he makes a full display of it. He’s the clumsiest thing on the fucking planet. How this kid survived to be sixteen is a damn mystery.

Michael spends most of this time whittling sticks into little stakes for fun using his hunting knife. Gives him something to keep his hands busy. Gavin never goes far, so he’s easy enough to keep track of. When he’s not poking at dirt, he’ll try and talk to someone. Sometimes, he’ll just sit there, shut up, and shut down. Thousand yard stare, dead limbs, the whole deal.

The day is empty and passes slowly. The cook and the soldier are flocked around Jeremy. When the man is conscious, he’s struggling to talk or move. It’ll take him half a minute to mumble a few words. Takes him an hour to eat some berries and meat. The two are at his side most of the time, “keeping him safe,” the cook says.

The hunter is nowhere to been found. Michael doesn’t care enough to wonder, even if it does seem that the man is like him.

He’s going to die. The others need to face the music—he already has.

The world spins. Dizzy, blurry eyes. Can’t see well. Blinking mind. Body burns and sweats. Hot.

“Food,” says Matt.

“Water,” says Trevor.

“Help?” Asks someone.

“Sleep,” says another.

Panic and worry when he coughs. Hands rubbing his face. Touching, moving. Very fast.

Weird dreams. In one, he’s dropped into a field, deep green that stretches for miles. The sky is dark as the deep, open sea; all the stars have left without a trace. He stares up at it. It’s bleak and murky, but there’s no storm in sight. Just blue-near-black. Something in the night blinks into view: a wooden ship in the air. It descends upon him, crashing before his small figure. Tall, black, shadowy figures take him by each limb and haul him onto the vessel. They have no eyes, no mouths, no hair. Where they touch him, it’s numb and oddly fuzzy. He cannot move out of their grip, and he cannot make a sound. They take him to a room and tie him up on the ground and begin to poke at him with small, sharp knives. They cut into him like game—they drain him of his blood and harvest his insides. But they don’t make a meal of him. They explore his body like a new, glorious cavern. One of them takes out his spine; he can’t feel it happen. His head splits violently in pain.

Gasping. Sweating. Heat. Pulsating chest. Coughing. Wet. Red. Hurting.

Hands touch him.

“Water?”

Yes, please.

“Food?”

No, please.

“Cold?”

No, please.

“Okay?”

_I don’t know._

Light close by.

“Breathe.” Deep voice. Big, gentle hands.

_Okay._

Slowly floating back to sleep.

Repeat.

Jeremy is unresponsive roughly forty five hours after being bitten. His breathing is dangerously shallow. He no longer responds to touch. He is paler than before, and his body has gone still.

Most of them cry. The chief holds his son, tears in his own eyes that don’t ever fall. The hunter leaves in masked devastation, and the farmer shortly follows after him, wet tracks down his own face. The cook and the soldier sit together and cry—the soldier cradles the cook as he shakes and sobs.

_He was a good man._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip jeremy


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something unexpected occurs, and the group slowly recovers.

“He— He’s awake!”

“Jeremy?!”

“Oh shit—!”

“Check him!”

“Thank fuck—!”

Tears of relief instantly flood Ryan’s blue eyes. Something in his broad chest bursts and his heartbeat rattles him. His breath hitches when he exhales. He quickly chokes back a half-expected forceful sob, catching it at the base of his neck and holding it there, trying to muscle through. Formless arms begin to squeeze him, and his demons shortly join in—ones that he refuses to name. His relief overwhelms his body as all of his thoughts from the past few days echo in his jumbled mind. When he can’t force the intense wave away, he begrudgingly gives in and readies himself by covering his mouth with his hands. When he lets go, a quiet, muffled cry escapes into his palm and the tower slowly crumbles.

Hidden up in a tree at the campsite, Ryan is invisible to the others. No one can see his tears or hear his hiccups or watch his hands tremble from all the bottled up emotions. He’s safe from them. He doesn’t have to keep his walls up anymore.

Jeremy was thought dead for four hours.

_Thank you, Ethor. Please continue to keep him under your protection._

Matt’s head spins. From the moment he noticed Jeremy’s fingers twitching and his chest rising and falling ever so slightly, he’s been lightheaded and dazed. His cracked heart has swelled so much so that it’s been mended.

As soon as he shouts out about it, Michael and Jack are tending to Jeremy, trying to figure out what they can do to help nurse him back to health. Trevor assumes a position beside him, calming him through rubbing his arm and back.

“He’s gonna be okay, Matt. He pulled through. He’s strong,” he reassures gently as Matt’s eyes overflow with tears.

Matt knows. Jeremy’s resilient, he couldn’t die at the hands of Death himself. No doubt, though, this scared him. It cut deep and shook his soul hard. But now he’s okay. Now he can leave all that behind and celebrate Jeremy’s second chance at life. The worst of it seems to be over.

It’s not until well into the night that Matt is able to breathe steadily and relax again. Jeremy is fully awake and very slowly eating, mumbling a few words to those around him. He’s beginning to become cohesive again. Matt can hear him murmuring about how he’s feeling, asking about everyone else, telling them that he can’t remember much. His voice is soft and gravelly from lack of use. It’s so wonderful and heartbreaking to hear at the same time—maybe the feeling isn’t heartbreak, but Matt doesn’t quite know how to place it.

“Hey… wh… wh-where’s… Matt?”

Matt perks up at the mention of his name, earning a chuckle from Trevor. (This does not go unnoticed but it does get ignored.) He glances instantly to Jeremy, who is propped up against a tree, and then he’s on his way to his side.

Jeremy smiles at him as he moves over.

“Been… cryin’... buddy?” He mutters.

Matt nods truthfully (no time for sarcasm now); “Don’t do that again, J. Please.”

“I kn… know… s-sorry…”

“It’s okay. You’re okay, and you’re gonna get better.”

Jeremy returns a tiny dip of the head and gives a slightly larger smile. It’s so comforting to see.

Suddenly, his patience is infinite.

Jeremy is slowly being rebuilt again. The more time that passes, the better he can see and hear. His body is controllable once again, so now he can sit up and move and touch and feel things again. Things make sense again.

Ryan is absent, and so is Jack. Michael sits beside Gavin, both of them silent. Geoff is tending to the oxen—he’d forgotten about their mission entirely. They’re still not there yet. Have they moved at all? How long was he sick for?

“Matt… wh… have we… are we a-any… further…?” He forces out. His chest and throat are still heavy and weak. Luckily, Matt is just to his left, so he doesn’t have to force much volume.

“What d’you mean, Jeremy?” Matt asks, watching him. Jeremy can see the firelight reflecting in his compassionate brown eyes.

“Are we… closer t-to… th— Alfredo?”

Matt shakes his head.

“We were more focused on you, dude.”

Jeremy feels his chest twist just a _tiny_ bit. He feels selfish—he’s slowed them down. It’s not his fault, but it’s _his fault_.

“Jeremy, don’t get upset. I know what you’re thinking,” Matt cuts in suddenly. His voice shatters some of the thoughts that were forming in Jeremy’s mind, stopping him so he can’t reason on his own anymore.

“I just… Matt… he could… die… ‘cause I got bit…”

Matt shakes his head again, more insistently than the last time. His hair swings along; Jeremy would normally find it entertaining, just not now.

“Dude. If we lose Alfredo… that’s still better than losing him _and_ you. You’re just as important as him.”

Jeremy’s frown heightens the burning in his chest. He doesn’t want to admit that Matt’s right, he wants to take the blame—even if there seems to be no blame to take. It’s his fault for getting bitten, so he’s to blame, obviously.

“Do you want some water, Jer?” Matt asks, his voice breaking right through the wall again.

“H— oh, yes, please.”

Before Matt stands, he places one hand gingerly onto his shoulder; “Stop feeling bad, please. It’s not your fault. It’s going to be okay. You’re alive, and that’s what matters.”

He’s alive, and that’s what matters.

The night and following day are spent sleeping; someone still keeps watch, even in the daylight.

Jeremy, who now sleeps soundly, uses Matt’s lap as a pillow, who uses Trevor’s shoulder as the same. Trevor has his arm wrapped comfortably around Matt’s neck, and he drifts in and out of sleep for a while. He’ll get an hour or so, and then part of him wanders back into consciousness and he tunes in to a warped version of what’s going on.

When he phases back in, he can hear footsteps crunching through grass and fallen leaves. Gentle, faraway chatter. Faint rustling. Soft chirps. His lids are more than too heavy to lift open, but he can paint a simple, messy picture in his half-working mind. Sunshine peeking through leaves and illuminating little patches of grass. Generic figures sprawled out on the ground around the unlit campfire. Columns of trees as far as the eye can see.

“Give… three days…?”

“Two… we leave ...morrow.”

“Think he’ll …?”

“Yeah.”

“What ‘f … dead?”

“We just have ...or the best.”

“Trevor’s ...na be h…”

“We c… do anything. We can’t re…”

“I know.”

Trevor struggles to fight against the impending pull of sleep that begins to return. He tries to force himself across the border to listen. They’re talking about Alfredo, and what it seems they’re saying is breaking his heart. He can’t be dead.

“The ...owes would do that.”

“Br… for our resources… selfish ...stards.”

“Th… ruthless.”

“But th… strong. We can’t ...ford a w…”

“We’ll die.”

Trevor’s body shakes violently. Throttling, mixing up his thoughts and disorienting him.

“...evor!”

A great flame ignites within his chest, scorching his body and shrivelling his lungs. He flails and sharply inhales as his eyes snap open and his body instantly lurches forward. There’s a buzzing numbness in his arms and legs that he’s not awake enough to get rid of. There’s a clawing at his mind that feels like his head’s being yanked backward, still a little too heavy to handle.

It’s dark out. The fire is going, but it’s dim. Hands grip his shoulders securely—they’re Matt’s hands, his face is a foot from Trevor’s own.

“Deep breaths, buddy,” he whispers calmingly.

Trevor’s hand weakly reaches for Matt’s arm, needing to hold onto something so that he can ground himself. He feels just noticeably dizzy. His body crashes hard once he can feel the soft touch of Matt’s skin against his tightening fingers.

“Easy… there you go…”

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Inhale.

“Wh-What… happened?” Trevor asks after a few minutes of “panic relieving.”

“I— I guess you were having a nightmare. You were squirming and sounded like you were in pain,” Matt explains slowly. Trevor can feel him scanning his face, maybe looking for signs of the nightmare or something? He doesn’t feel any sweat or tears. Is it something else?

He doesn’t reply, instead looking past Matt’s head. Who started this? Who thought Alfredo could be gone?

He only finds Michael, who paces with sharp eyes and a dark look. His sword reflects the warm light of the flame in the center of the site.

“M-Matt?”

“Yeah, Trev? What’s up?”

“Was… um— was anyone talking with Michael?”

“When?”

“Just a minute ago.”

“No. Why, are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah.”

But he’s not. Who was talking? Who was the one suggesting Alfredo’s demise? Where did he hear it? It was real, he _heard_ it. Someone _said it_.

“Trevor, try getting some sleep again, okay? I think I’m gonna stay up for a bit.”

Trevor’s eyes flicker up to Matt’s and he’s met with such a soft kindness. It’s such a caring, protective expression that overflows with compassion and emanates this wave of safety and security. His heart begins to slow again, and he finds himself giving a little nod.

“Okay,” he almost whispers. Then Matt lets him lay against his side and makes sure he’s comfortable.

As he slips back across the threshold, a thought comes to mind: _Was it just_ his _thoughts? Did his mind create that conversation?_

Alfredo couldn’t be dead. He’s too strong to let that happen.

_Hang in just a little longer, Fredo._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall got PRANKED


	7. quick update! {I DON'T THINK I'M DONE YET!}

hello! i'm not gone, i'm still here (as evident by my occasional posting...)

working on the story constantly burned me out quite a bit, and i found myself both blocked and in a rut. i wasn't proud of what i was writing, so i dropped it all together for a while.

the prologue and first 5 chapters are being edited and rewritten in some places, and i plan to give a crack at this again. :) i don't think i'm done with this yet! i love the world i've made, and i don't think i'm ready to let it go unfinished yet. let's see if i can write a little more for you guys!

i wish you all the best in these dark times. stay safe and take care of yourselves and each other.


	8. my thoughts on the matter, and moving forward.

the past nine days have hurt like hell. i'm livid, broken, sometimes numb.

we've lost a friend, someone we thought we knew. in a way, we're mourning a death.

i'm unsure of how to proceed in terms of content involving RH.

i'm unsure whether this work will be abandoned, deleted, or continued. for now, however, i'm not going to touch it.

for those of you who are hurting because of this, whether you are a victim or are feeling betrayal, or both, i stand with you.

i don't plan to leave the community. i'm going to stick around, and i'm going to show my love even more. the company and community need it right now.

do not torture yourselves with more of this situation. take time to heal. you can be caught up later.

i love you all. take care of yourselves. be well, and love each other.


End file.
